small
Where wrens look through,--'tis sure that, after all,
Summer was kind, and meant to make for me
A shriving-place,--a lighthouse on the sea
Of all that verdure,--that, beneath the stars,
I might receive one quickening glance from thee.

xvi.

Oh! had I dared to whisper in thine ear
My heart-full wish, undaunted by the fear
Of some rebuke:--a flush of thy fair face,
A lifted hand to tell me that the place
Was fairy-fenced, and guarded as by flame,--
Oh! had I dared to court the word of blame
That's good for me, no doubt! at every turn,
My life to-day were chasten'd by the same.

xvii.

But I was conscious of a sudden ban
Hurl'd from the zenith. I was like the man
Who scaled Olympus, with intent to bring
New fire therefrom, and dared not face the King
Of thought and thunder. I was full prepared
For thy displeasure,--for the past was bared
To mine on-looking; and, with faltering tongue,
I left my languorous meanings undeclared.

xviii.

O lost Occasion! what a thing art thou:--
A three-fold key,--the when, the where, the how,--
The past, the present and the future tense,--
All thrown aside. For what? A witless sense
Of some compunction! When the hour is bold
Reason is shy, and rapture, seeming-cold,
Makes mute surrender of its dearest chance,
And all for fear of doubts that might be told.

xix.

But could we meet, oh! could we meet again
On some such night, unseen upon the plain,
I'd rob thee, Lady! of a tardy smile.
I would do this; and, for a breathing-while,
I would assert a sinner's right to pray,
A sinner's right to choose, as best he may,
His patron-saint; and I would kneel to thee,
And call thee mine, and dote on thee for aye!

xx.

And then in summer, when the hours are mad,
And all the flow'rets in the fields are glad,
And all the breezes, like demented things
Outspeed the birds with sunlight on their wings,
In summer, aye! in summer's gracious time,
I might perchance be pardon'd for the crime
Of my much love, and win thy benison
Ere yet the year has reached its golden prime!

[Illustration: CHERUB]

Ninth Litany.

LILIUM INTER SPINAS.

Ninth Litany.

Lilium inter Spinas.

i.

Dearest and best of maidens, whom the Fates
have dower'd with beauty, whom the glory-gates
Have shown so splendid in my waking sight,
Is't well, thou syren! thus to haunt the night
And grant no mercy, none from week to week
All through the year? Is'